Credit Where Credit's Due
by BlameThePlotBunnies
Summary: Fluffy fluff, basically. Started as a oneshot, then the plot bunnies happened and now there are two... Stolen Moments: Robbie and James get a rare quiet moment to reflect on their life together. The Note: Jean Innocent receives an anonymous note... who could it be from?
1. Stolen Moments

**A/N Fluffiness. Pure and simple.**

Side by side they walked along the sand, trouser legs rolled up to the knee, waves skimming over their bare feet. Robbie took his hand, smiling gently at his young lover. James smiled back, squeezing Robbie's hand as he did so. This cove was empty, sheltered by the sheer cliff face on three sides, with only open ocean on the fourth. With no boat in sight, there was no way they could be observed. James lived for these quiet, intimate moments with Robbie, cherished every stolen second of them. Especially when they were on a case. They were few and far between when they were working, because neither of them would tolerate anything other than professional behaviour from the other, or from themselves. They were in the public eye when they least expected it these days, but if the public eye had ever rest on this cove, it was only when it was closed. The case was done. A few more minutes and they'd have to get on the road home or CSI Innocent would eat them alive, but for now, they could just be. The silence was easy, warm and comfortable; broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves and the screaming cries of the gulls wheeling overhead. They came to a seemingly natural halt and turned, still side by side, to stare out at the calm ocean. Robbie's arms came around his waist and James allowed himself to lean into the hug, his head resting against Robbie's shoulder as his eyes sought out his lover's gaze. He turned slowly in Robbie's arms, wrapping his own arms around Robbie's waist and leaning down. The kiss was chaste, a simple, gentle brush of lips, but it was nice, and it promised more, later, at home, in the privacy of their own bedroom. James let his forehead rest against Robbie's, feeling that the pose was almost more intimate than the kiss had been.

"Twenty-nine years I've waited for you Rob."

"Yours now, bonny lad. 'til death do us part, I said." He took his left arm from around James' waist and angled it so that the gold band around his third finger caught the sunlight "I meant it yeh know. Every word."

James smiled softly, even a little dopily "Me too." The silence fell around them again, as they stared out into the blue.

"If you ever tell her I said this, I'll deny it, lad, but I've never been so grateful to anyone as I am to Innocent."

"Come again Rob?" James replied, confused.

"Well, if she'd not sent you to meet me at the airport that day, I might never have met you. I'd certainly never have stayed on the force."

"Well in that case, I'm sending Innocent an anonymous thank you note!" James replied, with a grin.

"Nah, she'd recognise yer handwriting." Robbie joked, grinning back at him. One arm still around each other's waists, they turned in unison and walked back the way they'd come. There would be more moments, that much was certain. They never knew when, or where, but they would happen, so long as they were together.


	2. The Note

**A/N How did this even turn into another fic? Dang, those plot bunnies are devious little blighters! Anyway, enjoy! :)**

CSI Jean Innocent was a busy woman. Keeping a dozen DI's, about as many DS's and even more PC's working at their best was no picnic, and everybody knew she ran a tight ship. She was the boss, she walked that fine line between everybody's best friend and their worst enemy. She wasn't complaining, that was the chain of command, and that was the way it had to be. A place for everything and everything in its place. Which was why she was surprised to find a neat white envelope on her desk when she returned from lunch one day. There was no stamp and no post mark, just her name, hand-written across the front. The hand writing was oddly familiar, but she couldn't place it. Intrigued, and aware that she was going against every safety rule in the book, Jean picked up the envelope and carefully slit it open. Inside was single sheet of white paper, office paper, with the Oxfordshire Police header on it. Besides the header, it bore only two more hand written words:

Thank you.

She frowned. An anonymous thank you note. From who? And for what? She had no more time to ponder it though, as DI Peterson popped his head round the door wanting a word. She tucked the letter into her pocket, promising herself she'd ponder it later.

When the aforementioned later came around, it found Jean sitting on her sofa, shoes off, legs curled up; a glass of red wine in her hand. She slid the note from the pocket of her jacket, which was hanging over the back of the sofa beside her and, ignoring the sounds of her husband singing in the shower (off key and out of tune as usual), she studied it again. She gleaned nothing more from it this time, although she still felt sure that the handwriting was familiar. Very familiar. The question was, where from?

Three days later, reading a handwritten report from one of her Sergeants, (his printer had packed up - never rely on modern technology!), she astounded herself by realising that the handwriting matched that of the letter. What did James Hathaway have to thank her for?

Two days later still, sitting in a coffee shop and casually observing him, dressed in a t-shirt and denim cut-offs, strolling along a sunlit street in the city centre hand in hand with one of her male DI's, she understood at last. She'd sent Hathaway to the airport to pick up Robbie Lewis months ago. Without her, they may never have met. Sweet. James chose that moment to let his gaze wander idly across the street. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed her, and she took the opportunity to give him a smile and an approving nod. James grinned.


End file.
